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  • Gobierno Nombre: Marco Miguel Robertson
  • Número de registro: 62151-066
  • Edad:38
  • Tiempo de servicio:15 + años.
  • Home Town:Laurel, Maryland
  • Frase:VIDA +24 años.
  • Corriente de carga:Asesinato
  • Alias:Marco Miguel
  • Fecha de la versión:Buscando alivio después de la condena
  • Prisión Afiliación:Ortodoxo suní
  • Círculo de Influencia:Tewhan mayordomo
  • Institución:USP Lewisburg (SMU)
  • Soy un prisionero del estado de Maryland, en la Unidad de Manejo Especial del sistema penitenciario federal en el decimoquinto año de una vida + 24-años de prisión. NOPE, Nada de eso ha valido la pena!

Oh sí, Yo, también

Las calles llamadas,
Maldito,
Escuché!

Vivir pesadillas diarias en la cárcel,
A dream
I wish it was.

Ningún amor,
Para un matón,
Abrazos Depresión;
La frustración me sostiene apretado;
Shown in fact
I’m Black
Though my skin is light.

Jóvenes y viejos a ganar sus rayas,
Paying the price for seeking that life
When I only bit a slice of the American Pie

Days full of despair
Todavía,
Estoy contento de estar vivo.
Para gangsters nada quieren perforar mi lado.
La verdad que busco,
No puedo mentir.
Goodbye
To the outside
Without so much as a wave,
Twenty-three and One.
Restrained by chains

My sanity is exercised,
By guys who don’t realize principle,
No morals,
Or values,
In their visual;
Today your average everyday criminal.

To the wolves I’m thrown,
Cowards running in packs,
Can’t hold their own;
Hyenas wicked laughter,
Heard alongside racist faces;
You bastards!

Dark as my own flesh,
If not more,
But lacking a spine to support their core.

On cell doors
Is a chart posted with the happenings of every prisoner
For them to report
Triste,
But this is what I earned.

Evil waged upon me,
So when I recite scripture
My eyes tear up and burn.

Am I in hell’s flames,
Shamed by oppression’s cradle I was born in
Bathing in sin;
Trapped in a dimension
With fiendish rotation,
Housed in master’s zoo

Blew trial before I had the chance to blow;
Broke,
Without a penny to show,
Busted up dames got the nerve to turn up their nose.

Through a small window various devils peep,
Toss and turn in bed
From the dirt I did,
I can’t sleep

Can’t eat;
Can’t be weak;
Murder don’t stop.
Better be quick to grab a knife
And slice your hands through the air
Chop,
Chop,
Chop!

Careful not to roll the dice with your life;
A false step can be fatal.
I know mommy thought different when she rocked me in the cradle,
Smiled when I kicked her in the navel.

All too realistic,
I’m just a statistic
Who got twisted
In a cold system,
Mesmerized by losing wins;
Hypnotized by street glory;
A victim too,
Telling my story
From the pen,
Hoping you say,
I don’t want to be like him.

  

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